


I Will Fear No Evil

by Narya_Flame



Series: LLA Gift Ficlets 2018 [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ficlet, First Age, Gen, Giant Spiders, Horror, House of Finwë - Freeform, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame
Summary: In Nan Dungortheb, Aredhel embraces her heritage and stands against the darkness.A gift ficlet for NelyafinweFeanorion for Legendarium Ladies April. Warning for mild horror. Avoid if you can't stand spiders.





	I Will Fear No Evil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NelyafinweFeanorion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NelyafinweFeanorion/gifts).



> Nelya asked for Aredhel, after leaving Gondolin and losing her escort.

They were gathering at the mouth of the cave, and the fire would not light.

Aredhel's forearms prickled. Her mouth was dry and tasted of sulphur, and the sides of her throat slipped out of kilter each time she swallowed. Echoes of their soft, cruel clacking crept towards her. The faint light of the moon cast their shadows on the walls – swollen, bulbous pedipalps; trembling abdomens, heavy like rotten fruit; angular legs tapping their way through the dark. Her hands shook as she rolled the spindle between them, but the air was damp, and the rotten wood refused to spark.

_Ar-Feiniel..._

Their viscous whispers stroked her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of fire, praying for courage, willing the sense-memory of heat through her veins. She remembered golden Laurelin, and the pale, ancient aura of her grandfather – and Tyelko and the rest of them, blazing in the torchlight of Tirion...

A hiss and a bright flicker, and she opened her eyes, astonished. Fire leapt from spindle to tinder. 

“But this gift was never mine,” she whispered.

Laughter murmured through the cave like a teasing caress, ethereal, warm and maddeningly familiar.

_You are wrong, child. It was always yours. It belongs to all of you._

No time to wonder. Gently she blew on the skittering flames, and as they flared the clacking shadows drew away. Afraid no longer, Aredhel lifted a burning brand from the fire, and held it aloft in her right hand. With her left she drew the thin, curved sword forged for her by Fëanor across the Sea, and she turned to the mouth of the cave.

“Get you gone, foul children of Ungoliant,” she snarled. “For I am Aredhel Ar-Feiniel of the House of Finwë, and I do not fear you.”

  
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